


Sweet Spot

by kuroashi



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M, discussions of sex but not actual sex, disgusting tooth rotting fluff, domestic bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22806439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuroashi/pseuds/kuroashi
Summary: This is literally just gratuitous domesticity. Nothing else. Seriously. Not even a hint of substance.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 9
Kudos: 260





	Sweet Spot

It takes Mickey nearly 45 minutes to get home from the mall on a journey that should’ve taken twenty at the most, all thanks to some bullshit causing the El to run behind schedule. To make matters worse, he’s had to walk home from the station in the pouring rain, so by the time he gets through the door he’s dripping wet and extremely irritated.

Liam glances up at him from where he’s flicking through channels lazily, a half-eaten bowl of mac and cheese on the coffee table in front of him.

“Hey,” he says, peeling off his drenched coat and hanging it up by the door. He shakes his head and runs his fingers through it a few times to wring out some of the water. “Ian home yet?”

“No,” Liam replies as he places the remote down on the coffee table.

Mickey shrugs and makes his way upstairs where he’s greeted by the unmistakable sound of a headboard hitting against a wall. This is followed by a cry and a low laugh. He grimaces as he realises that Sandy is clearly staying the night again, but reasons that this at least means that the bathroom should be free. He heads into the bedroom to kick his shoes off and then takes a shower to warm himself up.

He ends up spending longer than usual under the spray, given that there’s not enough people home to bitch at him for using the hot water. He lets it wash away the bullshit he’d had to put up with at work – some spoiled teenager thinking she would try to show off to her friends by stealing shit, a middle aged woman who reeked of wine and was getting too aggressive with the manager. He runs his fingers through his hair and lets the water warm him to his bones, flushing away the shiver he’d had by the time he got home.

He brings his hand up to look at his wedding ring, and smiles as he wonders what Ian’s doing. He plays with it, admiring the combination of silver and black. He finds himself doing this a lot lately, as if one day he’s going to wake up and it won’t be there, and he’ll be back in his bedroom at Terry’s or his squalid bedsit in Tijuana, scared and angry and lonely, and all of this, even Ian, would fade away into never-had-been.

He shakes his head and decides to stop acting like a pussy. Goddamn Gallagher—rubbing off on him, making him all sentimental and shit. Speaking of rubbing off… Mickey smirked as he made quick work of getting clean, and then rummaged around in the stuff piled up under showerhead for the douche he’d brought in with him.

By the time he’s done, there’s a little more noise in the house. He can hear his husband’s voice chatting to Liam, the rustling of a plastic bag. Mickey smiles and heads to their room to change into pair of sweats and one of Ian’s hoodies. He doesn’t bother with the t-shirt but zips it up halfway, leaving some of his chest on show, and runs a cursory hand through his hair to detangle it and keep it out of his face.

He jogs down the stairs and grins at his husband.

“What’s up?” he says, still smiling like a lovesick fool as Ian glances up at him from pulling groceries out of a bag.

“Hey,” he says with a smile, looking Mickey up and down. His eyes linger on the hoodie and Mickey’s collarbone, but he doesn’t say anything. He just smirks and takes a carton of eggs out of the bag on the counter.

Mickey hops into one of the bar stools. “How was work?”

“Eh, same old, same old. Couple of old folks falling down, a few overdoses, some bar fights, a stabbing in Bridgeport. You know, the usual,” Ian replies, rearranging the contents of the fridge and shoving things in wherever he could.

“Huh,” Mickey replies disinterestedly, and begins to rummage through the bags in front of him until he finds a pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out, puts it between his lips and starts glancing around for a lighter. Ian’s is on the table behind him along with the ashtray, and he pulls it up to the bar.

“I thought I’d make burgers tonight,” Ian mumbles, putting a box of cereal in the cupboard.

“Mkay,” Mickey replies, blowing out a stream of smoke and gazing at Ian through slightly wet eyes.

“You know Linda’s oldest kid is nearly as tall as me now? Little shit used to come up to my waist. He’s not even in high school yet,” he adds, picking up the empty bags and shoving them into the drawer.

“No shit?” Mickey drawls, still not really paying attention to what Ian’s saying and letting his eyes travel over his husband’s shoulders and arms instead.

“You think Debs and Sandy will want dinner? Carl’s out tonight and Liam had mac and cheese when he got back from school. I should go ask them—”

“I… would give them a wide berth if I were you,” Mickey says with a wince.

Ian is silent for a moment and then laughs. “I think they’re tryin’ to outdo us, you know,” Ian says with a chuckle, and reaches into the last bag to take the detergent out and put it on the shelf above the washer.

Mickey snorts. “Then they’re gonna die tryin’,” he says, and takes a long drag on his cigarette.

Ian chuckles and then turns the oven on to begin work on dinner. They shoot the shit while Ian works, Mickey chain smoking while Ian nags him about smoking inside without opening a window. It doesn’t stop him from stealing the occasional drag though, and then ordering Mickey to grate the cheese.

“I don’t know why you don’t just use singles, man,” Mickey asks as Ian gives him the grater, a plate, and a block of cheddar cheese that’s large enough to use as a blunt object.

“It tastes better, and it’s more economical,” Ian says as he pulls the patties out of the oven and pokes at them with a spatula, the smell of cooking meat quickly replacing the smell of cigarette smoke. Mickey feels his stomach rumble and he almost drools.

“Man that smells good,” he says, and takes a swig of the beer Ian had separated from the six pack before putting it in the fridge.

“Mhm,” Ian mumbles. “You know what else is good? My blue cheese dressing. So grate the cheese or I’m not making it.”

Mickey scowls and gets to work.

They take their food upstairs with them, along with the rest of the six pack and a carton of donuts. Ian switches on the TV Mickey had brought home the other week with no explanation and then slips a DVD into the side of it.

“What’re we watchin’?” Mickey asks around a mouthful of food.

“I don’t know. I picked up the first thing I saw,” Ian says, and twists the lid off a beer. He climbs onto the bed and settles against the headboard before going to town on his own food.

It’s quiet for a while as they eat and watch _Jaws._ It only takes about another twenty minutes before Mickey gets bored and starts fiddling with a loose thread on Ian’s t-shirt. He obviously got changed before coming home and Mickey tries not to feel too disappointed at that. He’s yet to bring up his appreciation for Ian’s EMT uniform, but he gets the feeling that Ian already knows about it; last week he’d stripped Mickey completely naked while he only unzipped his fly to fuck him with his uniform still on. It had been ridiculously hot and Mickey had come embarrassingly hard, all while Ian had only smirked and smoked lazily while he watched Mickey get dressed.

“So how was work?” Ian asked.

“Boring.”

“Why, didn’t you get to crack any skulls?”

“Nah, there was some bullshit with people stealing crap from the store and getting handsy with the boss,” Mickey says. “It’s just a boring job.”

“Why don’t you look for another one?”

“I can’t. Larry got me this one so if I quit I have to get another job, which will be just as shitty,” Mickey explains. “You know as well as I do that most places won’t hire felons, especially ones still on parole.”

Ian is silent for a minute. “Well, you know… I did stop by the community college earlier. Asked about G.E.Ds—”

Mickey sighs. “This shit again?”

“I’m just saying, if you’re gonna bitch about your job the least you can do is think of something else you could do,” Ian says.

“I ain’t gonna find anything else, Ian,” Mickey says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m good at two things: giving beat downs, and takin’ dick.”

“That’s not true. I mean, you are good at that stuff, but you have other talents too,” Ian replies.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asks, disinterested and still toying with Ian’s loose thread while the screams of people being eaten by a shark blares from the TV.

“Yeah. I mean, you were a drug dealer, right? You’re better at math than I ever was, and you have to be good at math for that kind of work,” Ian says, sliding his hand across his stomach and threading his fingers through his husband’s.

“Hm,” Mickey hums, watching Ian stroke his knuckles with his thumb.

“And math is like a gateway subject, you know? It can open up a lot of different career paths,” he says. “You could go into business or you could do something science-y, or engineering, or you could train to be a mechanic… Hey, I bet Lip even knows how you could get into that. He fixes motorcycles—”

Mickey’s learned that kissing the bastard is the best way to shut him up. Ian’s mouth is a warm weight against his, but he barely gets to taste him for a second before Ian is jerking his head away.

“I’m serious, Mick—mph—”

Ian gives up for a few moments, and he finally melts into the slow, firm kiss, bringing his hand up to cup Mickey’s head.

When they finally break apart, Mickey’s eyes are soft, but Ian’s are still determined.

“I’m not gonna let this go, you know,” Ian says, looking up at his husband from where his head had been pushed back into the pillow. “You just need to believe in yourself more—”

“No, Ian, what I need is to relax and maybe have sex. I’ve had a long day at work. Can you please stop with the inspirational speech bullshit?” Mickey says, his eyes pleading.

Ian is silent for a few moments.

“ _Maybe_ have sex? Wow, I knew married life would be different, but we’re skipping sex _already_? Wow,” Ian says, an expression of mock surprise on his face.

Mickey smiles and pulls away slightly. “Fuck you. We’re having sex. Just not right now. You know sex and food don’t mix well for me,” Mickey says, then leans back and belches loudly.

Ian grimaces. “Sexy,” he says.

“Shut up, Gallagher. You love it.”

Ian laughs and pulls Mickey in close, buries his head in his hair. “I love you,” he says softly, inhaling the scent of him.

Mickey smiles and wraps his arms around him, that strange feeling of wanting to pinch himself coming back full force again. “I love you too.”

They pull away from each other after a moment and shuffle around. Ian is a still weight on his back, propped up on a pillow, but Mickey keeps shifting. He lies with his back against the headboard, but then he gets pins and needles in his leg. He slides down a bit, but it makes his neck hurt. He rolls onto his side and leans on one arm for a while, but then his arm starts to ache.

“Goddamnit,” he mumbles.

“Jesus, will you get over here? You’re like a goddamn earthworm,” Ian finally snaps. He lifts his arm up in invitation.

Mickey shuffles closer, rests his head on Ian’s pectoral muscle. He throws one arm over his chest and sighs as he finally settles, his body fitting against Ian’s like a jigsaw.

“That’s the sweet spot, huh?” Ian whispers into his hair, his hand stroking his back soothingly.

Mickey smiles against his chest and glances over at his wedding ring, still firmly on his finger, glinting in the low light of the TV.

“Yeah.”


End file.
